In the mistladen hills of Batan Province,
17yearold Arjay lives with his grandmother in a
house built on ancestral land, its walls carved
with old Filipino symbols no one speaks of
anymore. His father left for Canada years ago,
leaving behind only letters that never arrived.
The village believes in spirits—diwata, aswang,
and the angry souls of those wronged by Spanish
friars and American soldiers alike.
One night, Arjay stumbles upon a hidden cave
beneath the family rice field. Inside, he finds
a stone altar covered in red clay and bones. A
rusted knife lies beside it, its blade etched
with Latin script. Drawn by an unshakable pull,
he touches the knife and collapses. When he
wakes, his grandmother is gone. Her bed is empty,
her belongings scattered.
The village whispers. They say he has awakened
the Lingkod, a servant spirit bound to the blood
of colonizers. It was once a Filipino healer who
died under Spanish torture, cursed to return
only when the land forgets its history. Now, she
walks the village at night, pale and hungry, her
eyes glowing like coals.
Arjay tries to make amends. He burns incense,
offers food, prays to the Virgin Mary. Nothing
works. The Lingkod grows bolder, haunting his
dreams with visions of his grandmother’s death—a
slow, suffocating silence, her hands clawing at
nothing.
He learns from an old man that the only way to
stop her is to find the source of the curse: the
grave of the healer, buried under a church built
on her land. But the church is now a school,
guarded by nuns who see him as a troublemaker.
On the night of the town fiesta, Arjay sneaks
into the school grounds. The earth cracks open
beneath the altar where the church once stood.
The Lingkod rises, her form shifting between
human and shadow, her voice echoing with the
pain of centuries.
In the final moments, Arjay uses the same knife
to cut his palm and smear his blood on the altar.
The Lingkod stops. She looks at him, not as a
monster, but as a child who has finally listened.
With a whisper, she vanishes into the wind.
The next morning, the village awakens to find
the church ruins rebuilt—by unseen hands—with
the old Filipino symbols restored. Arjay’s
grandmother returns, weak but alive. No one asks
how.
The rule: No one may speak of the Lingkod again.
The punishment: exile or madness.
Arjay keeps the knife hidden. Some things, he
knows, are better left buried.
